


Honey and Vinegar

by Deanon



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), QDND
Genre: F/M, QDND - Freeform, Subtle emotional manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 15:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deanon/pseuds/Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosalind needs some info from Clint, and you catch more flies with honey than vinegar - not that she's opposed to using a bit of both.</p><p>Besides, she's <i>so close</i> to winning Calloway bingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey and Vinegar

When Clint entered a room, he took up the whole thing. His presence was huge, almost stifling – but then, so was Rosalind’s. With both of them in the room, neither of them gave an inch, and so when Clint entered the small sitting room that already contained a lounging Rosalind, the whole atmosphere became vastly more stifling.

 

Clint approached confidently, in wide strides, and Rosalind smiled slowly at him. She was leaning on a couch which was placed against the wall, as though she had practiced framing her fair skin and hair against its navy blue fabric. She made no move to stand, or even acknowledge him, save a miniscule bowing of her head. Clint smoothly stepped around the coffee table which sat in the middle of the sitting room, and bowed gallantly to Rosalind. “You called, m’lady?” he murmured, and kissed her hand when she proffered it. Rosalind’s smile grew.

 

“I did,” Rosalind said, pulling her hand away and sitting up a little bit more. “Please, sit down.” She gestured to the other end of the couch, where Clint settled down. Rosalind scrutinized him, but he seemed totally at ease under her scrutiny. “I didn’t think you were all that occupied upstairs, anyways.”

 

“No,” Clint said wryly, “Not exactly.” He lounged, looking for all the world as though Rosalind was his oldest friend that he was having a friendly chat with, instead of someone a step away from an enemy. Wearing an expression that was almost bemused, Rosalind rose, pacing over to the other side of the room to lean against a desk. The furnishings of the room were all opulent, deep mahogany and navy blue, but the desk was by far the most imposing piece of furniture in the room, large and wide. She braced herself against the surface, leaning backwards, feigning a relaxed posture.

 

“Bit of a surprise, waking up here,” Clint said. “It’s been a while, Rosalind Strangenorth.”

 

“It has,” Rosalind said cryptically, and said nothing else, except offering him a small smile.

 

There was a long moment of silence as the two sized each other up, before Rosalind said, silkily, “So. Clint Calloway. Golden boy of Litor, paradigm of nobility and strength – up for execution, with no publically published crimes.” Rosalind leaned forward slightly, holding Clint’s eyes, not giving an inch. “Quite the mystery.”

 

“Quite,” Clint agreed, lightly. He didn’t really look worried, but Rosalind's eyes cut through him to the worry hiding under his expression. She pressed back a predator’s smile, tried to replace it with something warmer.

 

“You have refuge here, for now,” she said. “Nobody gets into this house without my knowledge, and thus my permission, implied or otherwise.” She reached over to a small silver device laying on the edge of the table, flipping it in her hand. She slid a blade out of it, twirled it once, and then deftly slid the blade back in and continued twirling the innocuous object. “I think you know what I want in exchange.”

 

Clint laughed slightly, a noise that took up the whole room, even quiet as it was. “You haven’t changed at all, Rosalind. Always after one thing.” He leaned his chin against his hand, regarding her.

 

Rosalind shrugged her shoulder, shrugging the sleeve of her light, flowing blouse – doubtless concealing several weapons – off of her shoulder in the process. She looked at Clint from under her lashes. “And you’ve always been happy to help me in the past, as I recall.”

 

Clint did laugh, then, full and bright, although Rosalind didn’t respond at all. “Never content to let the past be the past, are you?” He said. “Well, you are helping me out, here. I suppose I can give you some of what you need.” He straightened. “So, I suppose you’ll want to know why they’re out to execute me, for starters.”

 

“Information is only as good as its source and its completeness,” Rosalind said. She straightened too, slipping the sleeve of her shirt back on as smoothly as if it had never fallen off. “Start at the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

 

Clint started talking. Rosalind took a couple notes on a paper next to her on the desk, but mostly she listened, her cold eyes evaluating every motion that Clint made in telling the story.

 

He spoke for nearly an hour, responding with various degrees of reluctance to Rosalind’s pressing. Rosalind left no stone unturned, no question unanswered, pushing at Clint in his most reluctant states.  There were long moment of silence in between her questions where they simply stared at each other, weighing each other’s honesty, neither willing to look away or back down. Clint was a good talker, but Rosalind was better at her job, found every hole in his story, every detail he was unwilling to disclose.

 

When silence fell again, she set her paper aside and simply stared at Clint, evaluating. She swept her eyes up and down him, sizing him up and finding him lacking. He stared back, confident, somehow, that she was going to help him anyways. “Satisfied?”

 

Rosalind would laugh at his presumption, especially after his recalcitrance, except that, in this one case, he might not be wrong. It truly might be in her best interests that she did offer him some assistance. Not openly, by any means, but the Calloways were a powerful family, and there was one other very powerful card in Clint’s hand, one that he didn’t even know he held, yet.

 

She was running out of time to play that card. She’d have to act soon – it might already be too late, actually, if her sources were right (and they were.)

 

But first.

 

“Almost,” Rosalind said. She tossed her hair a little, approaching the couch slowly, almost appearing as a predator stalking its prey. “You’ve been very good, after all, to give me all this information. And with how rudely I asked you here in the first place.”

 

“It wasn’t the nicest,” Clint admitted, “but I’ve had worse company. And harsher invitations.” He was still watching her, sizing her up. He’d relaxed back into the couch, his legs propped apart in a comfortable sprawl, inviting Rosalind to look. She didn’t – and then reconsidered, and did look, slowly and purposefully, making her gaze into a deliberate touch.

 

Clint shivered, and Rosalind had already won.

 

“Still,” she said. “Fair is fair. And I think you deserve some reward for being so… cooperative, don’t you?” She was still holding the knife, but she deliberately put it down on the coffee table. She wasn’t disarmed by any means, but the symbolism was important.

 

Clint said nothing, just watching her, and Rosalind stayed poised. It was important that Clint make the next move, like a back-and-forth in a game of chess. She almost had him, but these seconds were crucial. They dragged on, and then Clint said, a little wryly, a little sadly, “You know, you remind me of someone.”

 

That… wasn’t what she had expected. “Who?” She said slowly, unsure where exactly this was going. She still didn’t make a move.

 

“My sister,” Clint murmured, and Rosalind pulled the information to mind – Clint did have a younger sister, known for being more cunning than her two brothers. Rosalind had never met her. She frowned, unsure what exactly this meant – but it wasn’t a bad thing. She was in. Probably.

 

“Well,” she said, thrown off and trying not to show it. “Hopefully,” she strode forward, around the coffee table, and slid down to straddle Clint’s lap, letting her shirt slip off her shoulder again, reaching up and releasing her hair from its clasp, “I won’t remind you of your sister after this.”

 

Clint drew in a breath, but Rosalind took the words from his mouth, leaning in and kissing him deeply. She felt him melt beneath her, another shudder going through his whole body, and let herself almost smile in victory. Clint wasn’t one to fall for every pretty face - but then, Rosalind was much, much more than a pretty face.

 

She deepened the kiss and felt his hands come up to grasp her waist, his hands able to wrap almost all the way around it. Like this, she knew he felt powerful – he wasn’t much taller than her, but he was bigger, brawnier, probably stronger. He could throw her off, if he wanted to.

 

She rolled her hips forward, and enjoyed the rush of victory at the way his hands tightened and his mouth stilled in distraction. He _clearly_ didn’t want to.

 

Tangling a hand in his hair, she tilted his head and bit at his jaw, not bothering to be gentle or kind. This wasn’t any kind of – shudder – lovemaking, and she made no pretense of it, drawing him along with bites at the sensitive skin of his neck, with rough pulls at his hair. She undid the first layer of his overcoat, pulling it off, and exposing at least two more layers underneath it. He wasn’t in full armor, but even so, his clothes were thick and difficult to get off.

 

Clint, meanwhile, had slid a hand up her shirt, already teasing at her bare skin in places, although his hands hadn’t chanced across one of her hidden weapons, yet.

 

Impatient, irritated at the imbalance – even if it was intentional – Rosalind drew back and roughly palmed Clint through his pants, pleased again when his hips stuttered up towards her. She smiled, a little viciously, and slipped a dagger out of her sleeve to cut the cords holding his pants shut.

 

“Wh – _careful_ ,” Clint said, but Rosalind just smiled at him, looking almost genuinely pleased.

 

“Please,” she said smugly, “you like this, don’t you? You like the danger.” She drew back, pulling Clint’s pants down as she stood up a little. She twirled the small dagger in her finger a couple times before slamming it into the table, and watching Clint’s breath catch.

 

“Like sleeping with a viper,” Clint admitted, his eyes locked on the dagger before moving to where Rosalind’s hands were undoing her own pants. “Every time.”

 

“Oh, Clint,” Rosalind said lowly, moving to straddle Clint again but hovering slightly above him, enjoying looking down at him, enjoying him looking _up_ at her. “I’m much, much more dangerous than a viper.”

 

Clint’s breath stuttered again, and she sank down, slowly, guiding him into her. She shivered, once, a deep contented touch that ran up her spine and then sank into her stomach, burning.

 

“Yes,” Clint said, faintly. His hands drifted restlessly up her waist again, one of them tangling in her hair, the other coming to rest on her thigh. He didn’t seem comfortable letting her do the work, but she held him down, and after a moment he seemed to relent. “But,” he added a second later, his husky voice laced with amusement, “you do bite – “

 

She leaned down and did just that, sinking her teeth into his collarbone hard enough to draw blood, pulling a cry from him that was part-pleasure, part-pain. She raised her hips up and then sank back down, tilting her hips to an angle that sent exquisite shivers down her whole body. Clint was gasping beneath her in the most satisfying way, so good that she barely thought about the fact that she was gasping too, her breath coming unsteady as she rode him.

 

“Rosalind,” Clint murmured, and his eyes opened and looked up at her, and she kissed him to make him stop saying her name, as though this were something _intimate_.

 

This was a tool, she thought, rocking her hips. An excellent tool that she had at her disposal, and if he got emotionally involved, well, that was somewhat the point.

 

And then she got a brilliant idea, and leaned forward and murmured, into his ear, “Clint.” It came out breathy, almost a moan, but that was perfect, exactly what she had wanted.

 

She felt Clint buck up beneath her, her name coming out of his mouth a barely audible whisper. _Almost_ , Rosalind thought, and shifted her hips in a small circle against him, breathlessly gasping at the feeling. Clint's whole body shudder, and, almost certainly despite himself, he groaned out, “ _Rosalind_.”

 

She almost, _almost_ laughed at him, but she was too close for that, her whole mind getting caught up in the sensations in her body. She stopped holding him down to reach down between her own legs, tilting her hips to get a perfect angle, and for a few seconds she just shivered, liquid heat flowing through her whole body, whiting out her thoughts for a full moment.

 

Clint was still rocking up into her with miniscule thrusts, the best he could manage from his unfortunate angle under her on the couch. He was gasping, his hands digging into her waist and thigh, half-murmuring noises that could be her name.

 

Eyeing him, she sat back, and pressed, a few times, sliding her hips along his, building up into a rapid rhythm that had him moaning steadily, loud in the otherwise silent room. She felt him getting close, close, his hands going from grasping to restless movement to _clenching_ , and she knew the precise moment to pull back, to whisper “Oh, don’t you dare.”

 

She pressed down, hard, one final time, accompanying it with another bite to his neck and her nails digging into his hair. Clint cried out as she pulled off entirely, watching him spend himself in the air and on his own clothes. His cry dragged off into one that was almost pained as he jerked again, and she reached down to wipe off the inside of her thighs.

 

“You….” Clint murmured, and then leaned his head back against the back of the couch, laughing a little again. “ _You_ ,” Clint said, and Rosalind… didn’t know what that meant, quite, but she had a suspicion. It was a little fun, not knowing every thought that went through Clint's head. It was almost like having an equal.

 

She pulled on her pants – she wanted to clean herself, but that could wait a minute, as she still wasn’t quite done here – and tied up her hair while Clint recovered himself. By the time he looked up at her without blurred eyes, she believed that she looked almost fully put together, the flush in her cheeks even toned down to almost invisible in the dimmer light of the room.

 

“Get up,” she said. “And put your pants on,” although that would be a little tricky, since she had cut the ties. The humiliation of it appealed to her. “I’ll have my assistant show you downstairs. I know where you can go.”

 

Clint threw a smile at her, although it didn’t seem totally genuine. “I’d be an idiot to trust you.”

 

Rosalind opened the door and rang a small bell, knowing that the right person would hear it. “You don’t appear to have much of a choice,” Rosalind pointed out. She turned back to the room to find Clint dressed again, still leaning on the couch. He’d taken out a handkerchief and attempted to clean himself up, to moderate success. “I haven’t killed you yet, despite… many chances.”

 

“Hm,” Clint said.  “Getting rid of me so quickly?”

 

“I’d love to stay around and chat some more,” Rosalind said, sounding as though she knew a secret (and, to be fair, she knew many). “But I’m expecting someone.” She smiled, involuntarily, savoring the irony. “Someone important.” To you, she didn’t say.

 

“So late at night?” Clint said. “And here I thought I was your special guest.”

 

A knock came from the doorframe, and Rosalind turned and smiled at the butler before turning back to Clint. “Down those stairs,” she said. “To the very back.”

 

She pointedly didn’t touch Clint at all as he passed by her in the hallway, although she was careful not to avoid him, either. She touched the butler’s arm as Clint began to walk away, and leaned in very close, speaking in her house’s specialized cant.

 

“He lied to me,” Rosalind said softly, digging a single nail into his shoulder. “Make him regret it.”

 

The butler favored her with a single nod, and caught up to Clint to lead him downstairs.

 

Rosalind watched them leave, and then headed upstairs to finish up her plans, and wait. Her evening wasn’t over yet.


End file.
